


Handsome, Clever and Rich

by CoffeeKristin



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Angst, Edwardian Period, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeKristin/pseuds/CoffeeKristin
Summary: “Everyone deserves to find their soulmate, Jon,” Patrick sniffed. “Imagine going your whole life without finding the person you were meant to be with! I certainly hope to meet my perfect match one day.”“Yes, I - I’m sure you will,” Jonathan said. “Or perhaps you already have.”“Oh, I expect a matchmaker such as myself would be able to spot his own soulmate,” Patrick said breezily. “No matter, I’m sure he’s on the horizon. I but need to keep watch for him.”





	Handsome, Clever and Rich

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jezziejay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezziejay/gifts).



> The Emma AU (with a lot of credit to Clueless, which helped me reduce the plot significantly) that does not do one ounce of justice to Jane Austen. Featuring Patrick as Emma and Jonathon as Mr. Knightly. I highly recommend the Gwenyth Paltrow version of Emma, for those who haven’t seen it yet!
> 
> Title from the opening description of Emma in the book: "Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her."
> 
> This is unbeta'd and terribly late, so thanks to allthebros for giving me flexibility with the deadline. I started this for the book AU challenge, but just didn't have any time to finish it then.
> 
> Dedicated to my lovely Mia, who cheered me on when I was stuck and didn't think I would ever finish this thing.

It was at the engagement party for Roger Billingsly to Edith Thomason that Patrick learned what Jonathan Toews, his oldest friend, truly thought of him, and it was shocking indeed.

“I’m an excellent matchmaker, Jon,” Patrick said with no small affront. “I don’t know how you could ever imply differently.”

Jonathan snorted. “Cast your memory back to the time you tried to set up Mrs. Mitchell’s eldest with… who was it again?”

“It was Millicent, as you well know,” Patrick huffed. “And have done about that already, Toews. Everyone’s allowed to have a cock-up now and again.”

“Now and again,” Jonathan’s mouth twitched. “And it wasn’t a simple cock-up, it was practically a pistols-at-dawn offense.”

“Fine, yes, perhaps Millicent wasn’t the best match for Jeffrey, but she’s now very happily married to Mr. Tomlin, who, if you remember, I introduced her to,” Patrick reminded him.

“After she forgave you for introducing her to someone who ended up falling in love with her own brother and damn near splitting up their entire family, you mean?”

“Yes, well, you cannot blame me for that! How was I to know that Jeffrey and Todd were falling in love? And besides, since I introduced them, I technically set Jeffrey and Todd up as well. Why they aren’t more grateful to me, I’ll never understand.”

“Mmm hmm,” Jonathan hummed noncommittally. “And what of Brent, who you thought would be _so perfect_ with the chit from Worcester?”

“Well, I didn’t know he preferred men, now did I?” Patrick sniffed. “As though I could be expected to provide the correct heartmate to someone without knowing that.”

“Perhaps someone who considers himself a matchmaker extraordinaire would have endeavored to learn such things about the people he is making matches for,” Jonathan said mildly. “Come now, they’re calling us to supper.”

In a happy coincidence, Lord and Lady Quenneville were seated near them at supper, and had been brought together by Patrick not two summers past. They testified most earnestly to Patrick’s talents but Jonathan remained vexingly unmoved by their combined assertions. Patrick was still arguing with Jonathan as they left the table when he spied someone standing off to the side, looking out of place and uncertain.

It was poor Mr. Saad, a recent arrival to their village. He was staying with the Bowmans but thus far had not made many friends. His background was mostly unknown beyond being the impoverished son of an old friend of Stanley’s. He’d been quiet when Patrick had called on the Bowmans the other day, but seemed friendly if perhaps a little lonely. Patrick had quite liked him.

“Come, now, we must say hello to Mr. Saad,” Patrick said, tapping on Jonathan’s arm and motioning with his head towards the man himself.

“Mr. Saad?” Jonathan asked, looking over to see who Patrick was indicating. “The tall gent with the dark hair?”

“Yes, he’s staying with the younger Mr. Bowman, apprenticing to become an accountant, or something equally boring,” Patrick said quietly as they observed Mr. Saad. “A clerk? I don’t know, but he was very amusing when we met the other morning.”

“You seem taken with him,” Jonathan said, raising his quizzing glass to his face with a small wrinkle in his forehead.

“Jonathan Bryan Toews, stop using that thing, you look like a dyspeptic septuagenarian about to retire to his favorite chair with his cats and a warm glass of milk,” Patrick teased. “I’ve worked very hard to prevent people from discovering that beneath this strapping, handsome veneer, you’re actually a doddering old gent, and you’re in danger of spoiling all of my fine efforts.”

“I’m nothing of the sort, what even are you on about. Doddering, my word.”

“Yes, you are, the very definition of a doddering, old man,” Patrick smirked.

“You wish you were an old man,” Jonathan mumbled, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I mean - “

“And the very height of wit, as usual,” Patrick said solemnly, then laughed at how red Jonathan had gotten. “Anyway, when I met Brandon - “

“Brandon?” Jonathan’s eyebrows went up.

“Yes, Mr. Saad, I mean. I had stopped to see how Mr. Bowman the elder was faring after his recent flare of gout,” Patrick continued. “Mr. Saad is living with them whilst he undertakes his apprenticeship with Mr. Bowman the younger. He doubtless feels terribly at sea in this crush, not really knowing anyone yet.””

“Doubtless,” Jonathan said. They both watched as Mr. Saad accepted a glass of punch from Stan and then seated himself on a couch near the door to the gardens. 

“Let’s go say hello, or he’ll think me rude. It wouldn’t do for him to have a poor impression of our little community,” Patrick said.

“He seems a little shy,” Jonathan noted as they made their way over.

“Exactly that, and I fear he’s even the lonelier for it,” Patrick admitted quietly. “He likely won’t ever make friends if left to his own devices, so it’s up to us to take him under our wing.”

“It’s nice of you to take notice, Pat.” Jonathan smiled down at Patrick fondly. “You’re always so good at making people feel included.”

“It’s just the decent thing to do,” Patrick demurred, although he warmed a little at Jonathan’s praise, as he ever did. “Ah, Mr. Saad! Well met, my good fellow.”

“Mr. Kane, good evening.” Mr. Saad’s face brightened as he stood to shake Patrick’s hand.

“Indeed, a good evening improved by seeing you here,” Patrick smiled, turning to Jonathan. “I was just telling Jonathan about you, and here you are. What a lovely happenstance.”

“I must admit, I’m terribly glad to see you, Mr. Kane,” Mr. Saad admitted, looking around a little guiltily. “I feel a terrible burden on poor Mr. Bowman, who outn’t feel obligated to remain by my side, but has been most generous this evening. He’s really the only person I know.”

“Please, let’s dispense with this _Mr. Kane_ nonsense,” Patrick said. “You simply must call me Patrick. And this stuffy fellow is my friend, Captain Jonathan Toews.”

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Jonathan said, shaking Mr. Saad’s hand. “Patrick tells me you’re a house guest of Mr. Bowman the younger.”

“I am,” Mr. Saad nodded. “It’s an honor to meet you, Captain Toews.”

“You’ll likely see a lot of Mr. Kane, then,” Jonathan said, a small grin quirking his lips up. “He’s constantly bothering Mr. Bowman the elder.”

“I am not!” Patrick rolled his eyes at Mr. Saad, who smiled. “I will admit to greatly enjoying his company - “

“He means he bends his ear any chance he gets,” Jonny interjected with a twinkle.

“It’s not my fault he’s more intelligent and thoughtful on all manner of things than you lot,” Patrick sniffed. “You in particular, Captain Toews.” He turned to Brandon. “Jonny’s honestly the most incorrigible bore, Brandon, he’s better at putting me to sleep than whisky and a good book.”

“As though you’ve ever read a book in your life,” Jonathan parried, laughing when Patrick stuck his tongue out. Mr. Saad looked back and forth between them, his mouth opening and closing as though unsure of what to say, and Jonathan patted him on the arm. “If you’re to live around us, Mr. Saad, you’ll have to learn to ignore Mr. Kane’s bombastic and plainly false proclamations.”

“I’m sure I could never ignore Mr. Kane - “

“But you’ll want to,” Jonathan said gravely. “It’s impossible to do, mind. But you’ll want to.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “ _Anyway,_ as I was saying, Mr. Bowman the elder is fascinating and I’m sure you enjoy hearing all about his time in the House of Commons.”

“Um, yes, of course,” Brandon said. “He’s an entertaining fellow. I quite enjoy visiting with him.”

“Just so,” Patrick nodded, giving Jonathan a smug look.

“And he certainly likes you, Mr. Kane,” Brandon said earnestly. “Why, just yesterday he told me how much he appreciates you taking the time to call on him.”

“Well, that’s very kind of him to say, but he’s the one who’s indulging me, to be sure,” Patrick demurred.

“I think you and Mr. Bowman make a pair, each trying to credit the other for their forbearance,” Jonathan smiled, “when truly it’s a credit to you both.”

“It is, indeed,” Brandon said with a smile.

“Join us at the card table?” Jonathan asked as they made their way into the room set aside for after dinner entertainment. Brandon looked a little uneasy, and Patrick remembered that his family situation wasn’t one of the kind of means that allowed him to idly gamble his money at a party.

“I think we’ll decline, if it’s alright with you, Brandon? I’d prefer to get to know you a little rather than offering Seabrook yet another opportunity to rob me blind,” Patrick said, nodding his head at Brent, who didn’t even have the grace to look guilty. Brandon agreed, and once the introductions were done, Duncan successfully prevailed upon Jonathan to join them.

After such a fine meal and even finer spirits, there was much merriment around the table. Patrick took the chance to watch Brandon as he observed the raucous game. He seemed a nice enough fellow, if a little shy as Jonathan had noted, and Patrick decided he would make it his responsibility to help in fit in with their set.

Two weeks later, he knocked on Jonathan’s door, at an early enough hour that Markstrom’s disdainful look made Patrick flush. Patrick complained about it to Jonathan once he’d been escorted into the breakfast room.

“Honestly, Jon, it’s as though your butler doesn’t like me,” Patrick huffed once the door was closed behind Markstrom.

“He doesn’t,” Jonathan said. “It might be because of that time you poured honey in his shoes.”

“I was eleven!”

“I don’t think Markstrom believes that to be any kind of an excuse,” Jonathan said, but a small smile played around his lips. 

“But - “

“Or mayhaps it’s from that unfortunate incident with the pail over the door,” Jonathan continued.

“That was intended for you!” Patrick sputtered and Jonathan shrugged, a smug look on his face.  
“I’m simply pointing out that you’re terrible pranks have influenced your reputation with Marky, through all fault of your own,” Jonathan said, taking a bite of his muffin. A familiar swooping feeling came over of Patrick when Jonathan licked a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth, and Patrick forced himself to look away, busying himself with pouring a cup of coffee from the pot.

“Pat,” Jonathan chivvied. “Come now, you’re not really taking on about poor Markstrom, are you? That’s all your imagination, Pat. The man adores you, and well you know it. I think it rather more likely that he disapproves of you being about at this unseemly hour. Speaking of which, why _are_ you about at this hour? Did we have a riding engagement I forgot?”

“No, no, I’ve thought of the most wonderful idea, and I knew you’d want to hear it immediately,” Patrick said, wincing as he took a sip of coffee. “God, this coffee is awful. Since when does your kitchen make it so strong?”

“They make it strong because that’s how I like it, and this is my house. And because I was unaware that I needed to cater to your appetites, since we did not have an engagement this morning.”

“Cater to my - do you have them make it to my liking when I am expected?” When Jonathan didn’t respond, Patrick laughed, delighted. “Why Jonathan Toews, how sweet!”

“I try to make sure all my guests are accommodated, you’re no different,” Jonathan said stiffly, his ears turning a little pink.

“Hmm, well, I’m going to continue to believe that you’re only this accommodating for me, because I’m special.” Jonathan didn’t answer, just looked at Patrick in a way that made Patrick feel a little strange. It was quiet enough that the clock chiming the quarter hour sounded unaccountably loud, and Patrick cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, this is slop, call for another pot, won’t you?” Patrick batted his eyes at Jonathan until he snorted, and the strange tension between them snapped.

“Anything for you,” Jonathan said dryly, ringing for Markstrom. He hadn’t even put the bell down when Markstrom entered carrying a pot of coffee, and put it down without comment, picking up the full cup in front of Patrick and exiting as quickly as he’d appeared. When the door had shut behind him, Jonathan looked at Patrick and they burst out laughing.

“I told you he liked me!” Patrick crowed.

“You did nothing of the sort, you ridiculous man,” Jonathan snorted. “You were just burbling on about how much he hated you.” He poured a cup for Patrick out of the new pot and handed it over.

“Ah, that’s better,” Patrick sighed once he’d taken a sip. When he looked up, Jonathan was staring at him with a strange expression on his face. “Do I have something on my cheek?”

“What? No, no, sorry, just wool gathering.” Jonathan cleared his throat and took a large sip from his own cup. “Come, tell me your news. What has you here at dawn?”

“Oh! I’ve realized exactly who would be perfect for Mr. Saad!” Patrick said. “And, Jonathan, it’s a sad telling of your morning habits if you think half nine is dawn.”

“Leave my morning habits out of this,” Jonathan said, cheeks pink.

“Oh, I didn’t,” Patrick coughed, firmly telling himself not to think about what Jonathan might get up to in the mornings. “Er, I, uh, I think Miss Helmsly-Smithe would be the perfect woman for him. She’s tall, of good stock, and won’t hold the unfortunate circumstance of his background against him.”

“His background is unfortunate?” Jonathan frowned.

“Well, as you know I’m not one to gossip - “

“Never say it,” Jonathan said dryly.

“- but I heard that he’s the product of an illicit affair, and was fostered with a family but was forced to leave his old home and was quite homeless until Mr. Bowman agreed to take him in. He won’t tell me why - not that I’ve pried - “

“Of course you haven’t.”

“But now he hasn’t anywhere else to go, and his natural father is nowhere to be found.” Patrick sighed. “At least not according to Mrs. Bowman, who said I wasn’t to ask myself in case it upset him.”

“Well, I don’t think you should get involved at all,” Jonathan said, standing and brushing off his hands. “And since I’m clearly not going to be shot of you, would you care to accompany me for a ride? I can change in two moments and we can go out to the back fields, deliver some medicine to Mr. Savard for his gout.”

“I came in the phaeton,” Patrick said. “So I’d need to borrow a mount.”

“I suppose I can have one of my gentler mare’s saddled for you,” Jonathan teased.

“Very droll,” Patrick said. “But yes, let’s ride. We can talk more about my plans.”

“Your plans to matchmake for Mr. Saad?” Jonathan shook his head. “Leave me out of it.”

“Jonathan!” Patrick pouted. “You don’t want to know how I’m going to accomplish making the perfect match?”

“Not even in a little bit,” Jonathan said firmly. “I’ll be down in a moment. Have some more coffee and contemplate doing something - anything - other than playing matchmaker, Patrick. I beg you. No good will come of it.”

”No good will come of it,” Patrick echoed under his breath, sticking his tongue out at Jonathan’s back.

“I saw that,” Jonathan called over his shoulder.

“I hate that man,” Patrick said under his breath whilst pouring choosing a muffin from the tray before him. He looked up to find Markstrom looking down his nose at him for the second time that morning. “Oh, uh. Didn’t see you there, Marky.”

“Quite,” Markstrom said, his eye twitching at the nickname. “We both know you don’t hate Lord Toews. I’ve been watching you boys spar since you were too small to wear long pants, and I’m quite sure _hate_ isn’t the word I’d use to describe what I see between you two.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick found himself quite breathless waiting for Markstrom’s reply.

“Only that you love each other,” Markstrom said.

“Love each other! Why, we don’t - that is, Jonny isn’t - I mean - “

“Calm yourself, Master Patrick,” Markstrom patted his hand. “I only meant that you’re like brothers, of course.” Markstrom’s eyes were sharp on Patrick’s face, too knowing by half.

“Of course,” Patrick agreed faintly.

“Now be gone, you scamp. I’m sending Shannon in to clean this mess up.” Patrick looked down to see he’d crushed the muffin into a small pile of crumbs. “I’ve already sent word to the stables to saddle your usual mount.”

Patrick brushed the remains of the muffin off his hands, and considered how much Markstrom had discomfited him. Silly, when he always had loved Jonathan, and he supposed they’d been raised almost like brothers, but.

Lately it felt like his feelings for Jonathan were changing into something new, something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

He was still pondering pondering Markstrom’s words as he approached the stables, intercepting Crawford walking Showtime into the courtyard, the frisky stallion dancing and bobbing his head. “Stand still, Mr. Kane will be here in a minute, to spoil you rotten with stolen sugar, no doubt.”

“Here already, and without any sugar, sadly,” Patrick said. “Are you playing at stable boy again, Crow?”

“Whenever I can. I like it,” Crawford smiled. “I miss my old friends if I don’t stop by now and again.”

“I need to speak to you about purchasing a new gelding,” Patrick said. “Call on me next week?”

“Of course, sir,” Crawford nodded, handing the reins to Patrick. “Got a nice one in mind already. I’ll bring him over on Tuesday, if that works?”

“Capital, old man. And how’s my best boy?” Patrick crooned as he stroked the shock of white on Showtime’s forelock. “Perhaps I should make Jonathan finally sell him to me to make up for being so disappointing about Mr. Saad.”

“Mr. Saad? Do you mean Mr. Brandon Saad?” Crawford looked at Patrick.

“I do indeed, lovely man. How do you know Mr. Saad?” Patrick put his foot into Crawford’s hands and leapt into the saddle, deftly settling Showtime with a firm grip on the reins.

“Oh, I met him a few months back,” Crawford said, breaking into a shy smile that positively lit up his face. “At a country dance, it was. Found him to be most engaging. And he knows a lot about livestock, for a gently bred man, begging your pardon, Mr. Kane.”

“No offense taken, Crawford. And Saad is quite nice, isn’t he? A good man, deserving of the best match I can possibly make for him, not that Captain Toews understands,” Patrick said as Jonathan strode into the courtyard. “He thinks poor Mr. Saad should die alone.”

“I think nothing of the sort,” Jonathan said quellingly. “I simply don’t approve of you meddling in the poor man’s business.”

“It’s not meddling to introduce him to a nice miss! And curse you for throwing cold water on this, anyway. You’re so serious lately. What happened to the fun-loving Jonny-boy I grew up with? You’ve turned into someone’s spinster aunt, I’m sorry to say.”

“I beg your pardon,” Jonathan said coldly, stopping in his tracks. “You are too forward, sir.”

“Oh - I - I didn’t mean - Jon, you must know, I hold you in the greatest esteem - please don’t take offense!“ Patrick felt cold at the idea that he’d truly offended Jonathan.

“I should hope so,” Jonathan said before his stern visage cracked and he started to laugh. “If you could but see your face, Pat!”

“Oh, you - you - that was downright mean of you!”

“Oh come, now, Patrick,” Jonathan chivvied with a grin. “You can’t take offense to my little jokes when you’ve just complained I’m not, what did you call me? _The fun-loving Jonny-boy_ you grew up with?”

When Patrick just glared at him, Jonathan walked up to Showtime and laid his hand on Patrick’s knee. “Patrick, don’t pout. It doesn’t suit you. Where’s that sunny smile that turns all the heads in the county? Forgive me, and let’s go for our ride.”

“Well,” Patrick said, mollified. Jonathan’s hand on his leg was warm, and he found himself staring at it, then missing it when Jonathan pulled it back and turned toward his own mount. “I suppose you can be counted on for the occasional bout of good humor, and you’re not wrong about my smile.”

“Of course I’m not,” Jonathan said as he climbed into the saddle of his favorite gelding, Falco. “Let’s go, and to make it up to you, I’ll even let you tell me the details of your dashed plan to find a match for the unfortunate Mr. Saad.”

“I’m sure Miss Helmsly-Smythe is a woman worthy of his affections, someone he can love.”

Crawford made a noise and they looked down at where he was tightening Patrick’s stirrup.

“Is everything well?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes, milord, just got distracted and cut my hand a little.” He wiped at it with a rag. “It’s not deep.”

“Be sure to clean it well and get a bandage from Mrs. Goodswell before you leave,” Jonathan said. “Don’t let the wound get infected.”

They rode away with Crawford looking a little lost in the courtyard, and Jonathan sighed. “I wonder if something’s about with him. He’s been devilish distracted lately.”

“Is there trouble at home? Perhaps one of his children have caught that cold going round the village.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so, he’s a bachelor, just his mother living with him as far as I know. But lately I’ve caught him staring into space and smiling, and he only blushes when I ask him why.”

“Perhaps he has a girl, or a beau!” Patrick smirked. “I hear it’s quite the done thing, you know.”

“Pat - “

“And if he doesn’t, perhaps he needs one.”

“Leave him out of your ridiculous matchmaking schemes, Patrick,” Jonny scolded.

“Everyone deserves to find their soulmate, Jon,” Patrick sniffed. “Imagine going your whole life without finding the person you were meant to be with! I certainly hope to meet my perfect match one day.”

“Yes, I - I’m sure you will,” Jonathan said. “Or perhaps you already have.”

“Oh, I expect a matchmaker such as myself would be able to spot his own soulmate,” Patrick said breezily. “No matter, I’m sure he’s on the horizon. I but need to keep watch for him.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jonathan said, turning his face away as he fiddled with something on the his saddle.

“Come on, Jonny, let’s give these two their heads before they throw us off.”

“Yes, yes, but just a moment. My boot’s caught, devil take it,” Jonathan said crossly.

“Too bad for you,” Patrick grinned and set his boots to Showtime’s withers. “First one to Savvy’s wins!”

“Patrick! That’s cheating!“

***

Jonathan was still grumbling about losing the next day when he arrived at the Keith-Seabrook’s for their weekly card game.

“Oh, stop sulking, I won that race fair and square,” Patrick laughed at the mutinous expression on Jonathan’s face. He patted Jonathan’s hand. “There, there, I’ll let you win next time.”

“No part of that was fair or square, you cheater,” Jonathan scowled.

“Jonny never did like to lose,” Brent whispered _sotto voce_ to Brandon, who had joined them for the evening. “When we were boys he would cry the largest tears. It was quite the sight. And he’d complain to anyone that would listen about how unfair it all was.” Everyone laughed, and Brent tapped Patrick’s arm. “Patrick here was the only one who could ever get him to stop.”

“At least I wasn’t overfed as a child,” Jonathan snapped at Brent, making everyone guffaw. Even Jonathan joined in sheepishly.

“Sorry, Brent,” Jonathan said when the laughter ebbed. “That wasn’t well done of me.”

“Well,” Duncan said, taking Brent’s hand. “I wish I’d known you back then.”

“As do I,” Brent replied, raising Duncan’s hand to his lips. “You could’ve protected me from Captain Toews.”

“Stop, you two, Patrick’s already got love on the brain,” Jonathan said, knocking Patrick’s knee with his own.

“Love, you say,” Brent said, an eyebrow raised. “Do you have something to announce?”

“I - “ Patrick looked at where Jonathan was scowling at Brent. “As a matter of fact I do - I have come up with the perfect match for Brandon.” Patrick smiled gently as a flush came up in Brandon’s cheeks. “Someone I guarantee will make him the happiest of men.”

“What?” Brent laughed. “Patrick, didn’t you learn the error of your ways the last time?”

“That was not my fault, and well you know it, Brent,” Patrick sniffed. “I assure you, this time will be different.”

“I doubt it,” Jonathan said. “But, if you please, tell us about this paragon you’ve determined is just the thing for poor Mr. Saad, here.”

“Ignore Captain Toews, Brandon, he’s just jealous that I haven’t found him a perfect match yet.” Patrick patted Brandon’s hand.

“Yes, I should imagine that Jonathan must find that most disquieting,” Brent said tartly, arching an eyebrow at Jonathan who flushed, but didn’t make any rejoinder. Brent turned back to Patrick. “Perhaps instead of Mr. Saad, Jonny’s soulmate is the one you should be focusing on, hmm?”

“This isn’t about me, Brent,” Jonathan said quellingly.

“I - “ Patrick looked uncertainly between Brent and Jonathan, unable to puzzle out why they were both acting so oddly. “Yes, well. I’ve determined that the perfect person for Brandon is... “ He paused for a dramatic moment. “Miss Helmsly-Smithe, the vicar’s daughter!”

“Really?” Duncan said into the silence that followed. “She’s a bit of a bore, don’t you think?”

“Duncan Keith! How can you speak of her like that?” Patrick said, appalled.

“Because she bores me?” Duncan shrugged. “Talks incessantly about her frocks. It’s boring.”

“He has never had the patience needed to speak about the latest silks imported from the Far East or whether there’s too much lace on Lord Taft’s cravat,” Brent said fondly.

“Indeed not,” Duncan said with a shudder. “There’s always too much lace on Lord Taft’s cravat, what’s there to talk about? And yet Jennifer will drone on about it.”

“Come, come, Miss Helmsly-Smythe’s not so bad as that,” Patrick objected with a frown. “She’s lovely, sweet, and most importantly, tall, since Brandon is so uncommonly tall himself. And what’s more, she’s in active pursuit of a husband.”

“All of that is fine, but most importantly, will she care about that I’m sadly lacking in both funds and social station?” Brandon said, shrugging when Patrick protested. “No, it’s fine Patrick, we all know it’s true. I can’t be expected to make the best match, not without family or means.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Patrick said darkly. “Tell him, Jonathan. Tell him anyone would be lucky to have him!”

“Patrick’s right, Brandon,” Jonathan said, placing a hand on Saad’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “You’re smart and funny, someone any woman - or man - would be privileged to call their spouse, should you let them.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said to Jonathan, looking up to grin at him, but Jonathan was watching Saad, a gentle smile on his face.

“I - “ Saad was blushing a little as he held Jonathan’s gaze. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course! And what’s more, Patrick’s determined to make sure you find yourself well married, and soon. He is _very_ stubborn about such things, you know.”

“I - yes.” Patrick shifted a little in his chair as he watched Jonathan with Brandon. “Yes, of course. In fact, I’m making a vow. If you’re not married by this time next year, I’ll gift you my beloved Showtime!”

“I say, Patrick! Showtime is my horse, you can’t give him away!” Jonathan protested.

“Come now, he’s your horse in name only,” Patrick waved at Jonathan imperiously. “Besides, this way you’re invested in helping me! It’s perfect, really.”

“And when will you look for the perfect match for yourself, Kane?” Brent asked, a sly grin on his face.

“Oh, I’ve recently decided I’m not going to marry,” Patrick said, moving his cards in his hands to avoid meeting their eyes. “I’m sure I won’t find a man worth giving up the life I have, when it’s so perfect right now. Lawd, he probably wouldn’t even let me hang out with you lot as much as I do now, and wouldn’t you miss me?”

“I would,” Jonathan said quietly, making them all laugh again but when Patrick looked at him, but he was staring at his cards, his face somber.

“Well, then, there you go,” Patrick nodded. “I will not, nay, I cannot abandon Jon! We know he’s never going to find someone willing to take him on,” Patrick said, knocking his fist against Jonathan’s shoulder. “I’m probably the only person who can tolerate him for long stretches of time.”

“I say, Patrick, perhaps there’s another solution to be had, if you and Jonathan would but - “ Duncan stopped when Brent choked on his drink.

“More whisky!” Jonathan said abruptly while Duncan patted Brent on the back. “We need to toast to Brandon’s potential impending nuptials.” Brandon blushed, the pink of his cheeks making him look younger, and he smiled shyly when he clinked glasses with Jonathan.

“To Brandon,” Patrick echoed a little lamely.

But when he visited Brandon a week later to arrange for his attendance at a picnic the next day, Patrick found him less enthused than he’d been earlier.

“Patrick, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m not - I don’t think you ought to worry about finding a match for me,” Brandon said, looking a little guilty.

“What? Why on earth not!”

“Do you know Mr. Crawford?”

“Corey Crawford?” Patrick asked, confused by the sudden change in subject. “The horse breeder?”

“Yes.” Brandon looked down at his clasped hands. “He called on me the other day. He’s been calling on me, for ages, actually, but I didn’t think to mention it because I didn’t dare hope it was as anything more than a friend. But the other day, he - asked me to marry him.”

“Marry Corey Crawford? But he’s just a farmer! You cannot be serious about this, Brandon.”

“He’s not a farmer, as well you know,” Brandon frowned. “He breeds Jonathan’s horses - and yours, I believe.”

“That’s true, but still. His situation - he’s not gently born or bred. He isn’t good enough for you!”

“Why not?” Brandon asked a little sharply. “I quite like Corey.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, Mr. Crawford is nice enough. And excellent with horseflesh. I just think you can do better.”

“I don’t have a title or money, my family is… it’s complicated. Corey’s offered for me, and while I haven’t said yes just yet, I must admit, I’m considering it seriously.”

“But why?”

“Well, for one thing, I greatly esteem him.”

“ _Greatly esteem him_! Oh, Brandon. You must refuse Crawford, you simply must.” Patrick begged. “He’s a nice man, but you deserve someone who can walk in our social circles, not a man who comes home with dirt under his fingers every day and probably only washes twice a week.”

“Patrick!” Brandon said angrily. “I will not have you speak about Corey like that. If you persist, I must ask you to take your leave!”

“Oh, sit down, sit down, I didn’t mean it that way.” Patrick sighed. “Crawford’s a good enough fellow, I suppose, just not good enough for you.”

“And who is?” Brandon asked, his features still cloudy.

“Miss Helmsly-Smithe, of course!” Patrick made an impatient noise. “Oh, you must at least see if she’s someone you could get on with, Brandon. Promise me you’ll refuse Crawford, for now anyway. Ask him for a bit of time, to consider things.”

“What if he won’t wait for me, and demands an immediate answer?” Brandon asked dubiously.

“Well, then, you’ll have your answer,” Patrick said with a sharp nod. “If he’s not of the character of man who can wait for you, when you’ve only just met him? Surely a man should be allowed time to contemplate embarking upon a life-long commitment. And if he does wait, and Miss Helmsly-Smithe does not suit, you can speak with him again, and accept, if that’s your decision.”

“Very well,” Brandon said, still looking unsettled. “I will speak to him tomorrow.”

“Good!” When Brandon sighed, Patrick patted his back. “I promise, this will work out, I’m very good at this match-making business. You’ll see!”

***

Three weeks later, Patrick was starting to doubt his ability to maintain his good manners. The Helmsly-Smythe’s were tolerable in small doses, but Patrick was wearying of spending so much time in their company. Having Jonathan around was the only reason he’d been able to bear it at all, and Patrick was grateful he had finally reluctantly agreed to assist in facilitating the match between Jennifer Helmsly-Smythe and Brandon.

The match had proven more difficult that Patrick had assumed it would be, Jennifer more than willing to join their group for outings and at dinner parties, but less inclined to spend time during those outings with Brandon than with Patrick. The whole thing was beyond vexing, and he’d grown tired of making excuses to push Jennifer and Brandon together. He was seated next to Jennifer at supper one night when he decided the direct route would be more effective than all the hints and gentle suggestions he’d been dropping in her ear for weeks.

“I say, Jennifer, what do you think of our Brandon? Won’t he make someone a fine husband?”

“Hmm? Brandon? Er, yes, yes, I’m sure he will. Any friend of yours is assuredly a most honorable and decent sort of man to have gained your affections,” Jennifer said. 

“It’s easy to see how someone might fall for Brandon, isn’t it? I mean he’s very handsome, and so very tall.” Patrick glanced over to where Jonathan and Brandon were sitting, Jonathan leaning in to whisper something in Brandon’s ear that made Brandon laugh and bump shoulders with him.

“I myself don’t care for overly tall men. And I like a slighter, more fair looking man, if I’m being honest.” She looked over at Brandon and Jonathan. “I think he’s very lucky that you’re trying to find a good match for him, though.”

“I try,” Patrick said, still distracted by the easy way between Jonathan and Brandon. “I do like helping people find happiness.”

“It’s one of the things I find exemplary about you,” Jennifer continued, placing her hand over his. “One of the qualities I’ve always felt makes you stand apart from all other men.”

“Oh, well,” Patrick said, pulling his hand back and reaching for his wine glass. “That’s very nice of you to say.”

“He certainly seems to have caught Captain Toews’ eye,” Jennifer remarked. “They’re ever together, don’t you think?”

“Er, yes, now that you mention it.”

Jennifer continue to deflect all talk of Brandon and his excellent qualities during the meal, and Patrick found himself out of sorts after dinner. With Jennifer at his side, he went looking for Brandon and found him outside with Jonathan, his hand on Jonathan’s arm. Jonathan was leaning close, whispering that made Brandon laugh when they walked up.

“Ah, so this is where you two went,” Patrick said a little more sharply than he’d intended. “It’s not nice of you to keep Brandon to yourself all evening, Captain Toews.”

Jonathan looked at him strangely. “I was simply entertaining him whilst we waited for you and Miss Helmsly-Smythe.”

“Well, we’re here now,” Patrick said, trying not to scowl.

“Patrick, is something amiss?” Jonathan said, bewildered. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“I - “

“Miss Smythe, would you do me the honor of a turn about the garden,” Brandon said, rising smoothly from the bench he’d been sitting on. “I had meant to ask you to show me the roses your mother was speaking of the other day.”

“Of course, Mr. Saad.” She looked over at Patrick. “Will you join us?”

“No, no, you two go,” Patrick said, grateful to have a few moments reprieve from her presence. “We’ll wait for your return here.”

“What’s wrong with you now?” Jonathan asked shortly as soon as the couple were out of hearing distance.

“Nothing!” Patrick said sulkily, aware he was behaving like a brat but unable to stop himself. “I just don’t know how I can be expected to make a match for Brandon when you’re monopolizing every moment of his time.”

“I am not monopolizing him!” Jonathan scowled, standing abruptly. “You’re just angry that they don’t suit.”

“Whatever can you mean, Toews? They’re perfect for each other!”

“If you can’t recognize that there’s not a whit of attraction between those two, then I don’t know how you can call yourself a matchmaker,” Jonathan sniffed.

“How dare you,” Patrick snapped. “Why - I think you’ve been undermining me! Whatever for?”

“I would never undermine you,” Jonathan replied hotly. “I have always been your strongest support and your staunchest defender.”

“It certainly doesn’t appear that way,” Patrick said, still angry and not missing the fact that Jonathan hadn’t answered his question about whether he was interested in Brandon. “It seems as though you’ve decided to spike my fun, just as always.”

“Everything okay over here?” Abigail Sharp asked as she drew up next to Patrick, her husband Patrick by her side.

“It is not,” Jonathan replied, still glaring at Patrick. “I suddenly find I have acquired the worst headache.”

“Oh, dear,” Abigail said, touching Jonathan’s arm. “Is it another migraine?”

Patrick looked at Jonathan sharply, concerned that his symptoms from bashing his head on a fall from his horse two years ago had returned.

“No, nothing so serious as that,” Jonathan replied with a shake of his head. 

“That’s good,” Abigail said.”

“I hope you’re taking care of yourself, Toews,” Sharp said. “Can’t be too careful with head injuries.”

“This headache wasn’t caused by a fall from my mount, but by the company I’ve been keeping.” He glared at Patrick. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Yes, best get home to your bed, then,” Patrick said with a mean smile, his earlier concern gone now that he knew Jonathan wasn’t truly suffering ill. As Jonathan walked away, Patrick could feel Sharp staring at him. “What,” he finally said with exasperation.

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Sharp said.

“Out with it, old man,” Patrick narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, I was just thinking that perhaps the past few weeks have finally removed the blinders from your eyes about Jonathan,” Sharp said with a gleam in his eye.

“What blinders?”

“I’m sure Patrick only means that Captain Toews has been most accomodating in your quest to arrange a match for Mr. Saad the past few weeks,” Abigail said mildly. “Despite his own misgivings about the endeavor.”

“Actually,” Sharp began, only to groan when Abigail unsubtly trod on his toews. “Actually, yes, that is what I was going to say. Most generous of Toews.”

“Indeed,” Abigail said cooly, drawing Patrick’s arm through her own. “Now, I believe you reserved this dance on my card, didn’t you, Mr. Kane?”

“If I didn’t, I will duel the man who did for the honor, ma’am,” Patrick replied, turning his back to Sharp.

After the dance, he returned Abigail to Sharp’s side, commenting loudly about how undeserving he was of her.

“Tis true,” Sharp agreed, taking his wife’s hand and kissing it. “And yet it is the better Patrick that she consented to wed and not the lesser one, who is thereby forever limited to dances and turns about a drawing room.”

“Oh, stop,” Abigail said, smacking him with her fan. “That flattery was old when you were courting me, Patrick, and it hasn’t improved with age.”

“Speaking of age, it’s clear that Abby only chose you out of pity, unwilling to let an elderly man such as yourself die a bachelor, lonely and sad with only his gout to keep him company.”

“Enough, both of you.” Abigail nodded at a handsome man who was bending the ear of Stanley Bowman. “Have you met the newest addition to our little hamlet, Pat? that’s Ryan Hartman, another transplant, late of London.” She leaned closer. “You remember him, do you not? The estranged son of Lord Wirtz. Apparently they’ve made up and he’s come to stay for the summer.”

“How happy for Rocky, after all these years,” Patrick said, glancing over with interest at the dark-haired man. “Oh, and I say, his hair is quite the rival to yours, Sharp.”

“His hair is nothing like mine, not that I care,” Sharp said with a patently false sniff.

“You know, you’re right,” Patrick says, looking more carefully at Hartman as he turned to speak to his father. “He doesn’t have any grey in his hair.”

“I don’t have any grey either, Kane!” Sharp frowned, patting his temples.

“You remain here, and I’ll send your regards, never fear,” Patrick said, backing away after a brief bow. “Don’t want you to injure your hip walking across the ballroom, old boy.”

***

Ryan was a lively chap, younger than Patrick but interested in many of the same things, and Patrick found himself calling on Lord Witz often over the next few weeks. Ryan’s friend Vincent was also visiting from London, an affable scamp of a man who entertained them all with wild stories from his time visiting his father’s family in Milano a year earlier.

It wasn’t a month later when suddenly everything with Miss Helmsly-Smythe went to hell.

“But - Jennifer, you know I’d hoped you and Mr. Saad - “ Patrick gaped at Jennifer, who was glaring at him crossly.

“Mr. Saad!” Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “As though I could ever stoop so low as to consider a suitor without any family to speak of. The discarded by-blow of God-only-knows who? What do you take me for, Patrick?”

“Someone with more class than you obviously have,” Patrick replied, anger rising. “Then what have you been doing with him the past months? Leading him on only to dash his hopes like this is cruel work indeed!”

“I wasn’t leading Mr. Saad on! I’ve made it abundantly clear that I only have eyes for one man - you!” Jennifer said.

“I - you - me?” Patrick drew back.

“Mr. Saad is nice, I’m sure, but I’d no more marry him than the lowliest beggar at my father’s church door,” Jennifer said, her mouth pursed in distaste. “I cannot account for you ever thinking otherwise.”

When Patrick arrived at Jonathan’s home later, he was still shaking with rage.

“And then she had the gall - the unmitigated gall, Jonny - to say that it was _I_ who led her on! Can you believe it?”

“Well,” Jonathan said, handing Patrick a snifter of amber liquid. “You were rather attentive the past month.”

“Because I was matchmaking!”

“Did she know that?”

“No - but - I - I - “ Patrick sat, suddenly feeling defeated. “Bollocks, Jon. I’ve really cocked this up, haven’t I?”

“Now, now, Pat, it’s not so bad as that, surely?” Jonathan sat and patted Patrick’s knee.

“I - but - Mr. Saad’s expecting to propose to her,” Patrick said, looking down at Jonathan’s hand, large and tanned on the pale fawn color of his breeches. His fingers felt warm through the fabric and Patrick took a long swallow to cover how distracting he was suddenly finding Jonathan’s proximity.

“Well, from what I’ve seen, I’m sure Mr. Saad’s heart won’t be broken.” Jonathan’s eyes twinkled. “I think you’ll find there’s another man who’s had his eye on him this whole time.”

“What do you know?” Patrick demanded, distracted immediately. “Who?”

“I can’t say yet, but be assured, I don’t believe Brandon is likely to be single for too much longer.”

Jonathan looked smug but despite Patrick’s grumbling, refused to elaborate.

***

Unfortunately, nothing Patrick said could make things right with Jennifer. Fortunately, Ryan Hartman had come into his life at exactly the right moment to provide a distraction.

Because Ryan was ever looking for ways to have fun, and happy to include Patrick amongst his party. It helped Patrick ignore how Jonathan seemed to be hovering around Brandon, even now that the man had made friends of his own, and there was no one to matchmake Brandon with.

Jonathan might have gotten on famously - too famously, Patrick thought - with Brandon, but he did not seem to appreciate Ryan Hartman at all. One night, Patrick had had enough of the disappointed looks and sharp words directed Ryan’s way and confronted Jonathan about it.

“Why are you so rude to Ryan!” Patrick demanded, grabbing Jonathan by the sleeve as he stormed out of Four Feathers after an evening of drinking and merriment. He’d sat practically stone faced, making rude asides the whole of the evening. “You’ve been cold and standoffish to him since you two met.”

“I haven’t been rude, the man and I simply do not have anything in common,” Jonathan said, straightening out the cuff of the sleeve Patrick had disturbed.

“That’s not true - you’re both excellent riders, and you love to fish, although God knows why,” Patrick said.

“Aside from that - “

“Well, you’re both friends of mine and it’s getting bloody ridiculous watching you two snipe over the smallest disagreements, Jon. It’s not like you at all.”

“Perhaps I don’t care for what you and your young friend get up to in establishments such as this one,” Jonathan said tightly. “The days of finding oneself deep in one’s cups every night have passed, Patrick. We’re both getting older, and we both need to be more responsible - “

“More responsible!” Patrick pulled back, anger rising quickly in him. “I haven’t done anything irresponsible in ages!”

“I didn’t say - “

“Since my father passed and it was left to me to see my sisters well settled,” Patrick started, looking away from Jonathan’s face as it morphed from anger to concern and into pity, “I’ve done nothing but be responsible. It’s been years - _years_ \- since I’ve set a foot out of place, and yet you dare to accuse me of being irresponsible?”

“Pat, I didn’t accuse you - “

“Good evening to you, sir,” Patrick said, pulling away from Jonathan’s reach and taking a step towards the pub where he’d left Ryan and his other friends. “Go home to your empty home and Markstrom, where you won’t be disturbed by the antics of your irresponsible and embarrassing friend.” Patrick bowed and turned away.

“I’m not embarrassed by you,” Jonathan said as Patrick was reaching for the door to the pub, and Patrick turned to look back at him. “I just - this.” He waved at the building, the sound of raised voices spilling out through the open windows. “I don’t think this life, these late nights at pubs drinking ourselves into stupors, then spending the day consuming headache tinctures so we can do it all over again the next night. It’s not who we are anymore.”

“Correction, Captain Toews,” Patrick said, smiling as widely and insincerely as he could. “This isn’t who you are anymore. I believe I find myself in much better concert with the gentlemen inside.”

Once he was seated again, Patrick realized with dismay that his hands were shaking.

“Are you well?” Ryan asked carefully.

“Yes, fine, I just - “

“Hate fighting with your closest and dearest friend?” Ryan bumped his shoulder. “I know exactly how you feel. When Vincent and I were at odds, it was horrid. I’m very pleased we’ve made amends.”

Patrick looked up in time to see Vincent smile tenderly at Ryan before he looked back at the others, clearly wrapping up some complicated story that had that entire end of the table laughing.

“Yes, but - “ Patrick paused, catching his lower lip between his teeth, unsure of how to explain just how unsettling things had been between himself and Jonathan lately. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into Jonny lately. He’s normally the most even-natured of men.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Vincent said, dropping into the seat next to Ryan and grabbing Ryan’s half-empty glass, leaning back and laughing when Ryan tried to grab the ale back from him. It was empty when he lowered it back to the table.

“Scoundrel,” Ryan complained, standing. “I suppose you expect me to purchase the next round?”

“Got it in one,” Vincent laughed. He watched as Ryan walked over to the bar and put up three fingers, then looked at Patrick. “Your Captain Toews has quite the temper, is what I’ve heard.”

“Jonny? If he’s playing whist, perhaps, or racing horses. But normally? He’s a most affable fellow.”

“I agree,” Brandon said, sitting down next to Vinnie, a flush high in his cheeks. “He’s always been very considerate, even kind, to me. And he’s very funny.”

“Yes, just so,” Patrick said, ignoring how it irked him to think about how close Brandon and Jonathan had gotten since Patrick introduced them months ago. “You just haven’t seen that side of him, that’s all.”

“Damn near took off Ryan’s head that time they raced in the park a few weeks ago,” Vincent said with a scowl. “As though using a whip in a race is somehow cheating.”

“What Ryan was doing wasn’t using the whip,” Brandon replied hotly. “He was damn near maiming that poor animal, and any gentleman who admires horseflesh would’ve protested.”

“That wasn’t well done of me,” Ryan said, overhearing their conversation as he returned with three foaming mugs, “and I regret it, which I’ve apologized about to Toews over and over since.”

“Not that it’s done any good,” Vincent said under his breath before taking one of the mugs.

The conversation changed to the best places to observe horse races, but Patrick didn’t pay much attention as he mulled over why he was so irked by Brandon and Jonathan’s friendship. It wasn’t fair, but it bothered Patrick that since Jennifer had rejected Brandon, Jonathan had been damn near glued to Brandon’s side.

He didn’t have an answer, but it seemed like all of the newcomers to the village were impacting his relationship with Jonathan, and unless he found a way to fix things, Patrick was worried that it was going to irreparably changed.

***

A picnic one week later brought things between Jonathan and Patrick to a head.

To be fair, it was all Patrick’s fault. He’d been watching Jonathan fawn over Brandon, the two of them laughing with Baron Hossa, visiting from Slovakia. He’d brought his poor, bachelor cousin, Michal Rozsíval, along on the trip. Mr. Roscival was very nice, and for the most part Patrick found him to be funny and sweet, if a bit of a bore.

Ryan had devised a silly game for them to play, where everyone was to come up with a clever thing to say to amuse the group.

“You may say one very clever thing, two somewhat clever things, or three very dull things,” Ryan said from where he was sprawled on a tartan blanket. “All with a goal of making Mr. Kane laugh.”

Jennifer Helmsly-Smythe cleared her throat disapprovingly. and stood up, saying, “I feel a walk might be a better use of this day outdoors. “You must excuse me, Mr. Kane, from this endeavor to amuse you. I’m quite sure I’ve more than done my duty in that regard already this year.”

Patrick’s feelings were raw indeed at the cut, even as the rest of their group murmured with disapproval. He wasn’t certain whether it was at Jennifer for her words, or Patrick for seemingly leading her on. Some in their set had taken Jennifer’s side when she’d loudly complained about the whole unfortunate misunderstanding and Patrick still hadn’t quite gotten things back to rights, as evidenced by her outburst.

“I will win at this game,” Mr. Rozsíval said a little nervously into the sudden silence left in Jennifer’s wake, “since I may choose to say three dull things. I’m sure I can accomplish that as soon as I open my mouth.”

“There may be a difficulty, my good fellow,” Patrick said peevishly, knowing he shouldn’t continue but finding himself unable to stop. “Since you’ll be limited as to number; only three.”

There was a sudden silence as Mr. Rozsíval pulled back, a little shocked, and then babbled into an even tenser silence than before. “Limited to three. I - yes, you’re - of course, to be sure. I will try to hold my tongue.”

Jonathan glared at Patrick, shaking his head, but he said nothing to him, only turning to Mr. Rozsíval. “I find I’m not in the mood for any games, either. Michal, will you join me for a turn about the gardens?”

No one said anything right away, but then more food was brought out and the party continued. Mr. Rozsíval did not return with Jonathan, though, and later, on their ride home, Patrick received a dressing down from Jonathan the likes of which he’d not been subject to for years.

“I cannot believe you said those things to Mr. Rozsíval,” Jonathan said as they climbed their mounts.

“He himself said he was dull not one moment earlier!”

“Yes, but that’s not the same, and well you know it, Patrick.” 

“I - “

“That poor man is hanging onto his position in society by the barest of threads, and you held him up for ridicule, in front of all of your friends.”

“I daresay he didn’t even understand,” Patrick protested weakly. “He hardly speaks English well enough - “

“He understood, and what’s more, he was hurt. By you, someone he admires and until today, had given him cause to think admired him.”

“I - “ Patrick looked away, his stomach churning.

“Someone who, until today, I felt was kind enough to know how to behave toward someone less fortunate than himself.” Jonathan’s face was pinched and tight as he looked at Patrick with equal parts of anger and disappointment. “Badly done, Patrick. Very badly done.”

Jonathan rode off without another word, leaving Patrick with an ache in his chest and a sick feeling in his stomach.

***

Patrick proved the truth of Jonathan’s words the next day when, despite his efforts, he couldn’t make things right. He’d gone to see Baron Hossa and Mr. Rozsíval the very next day, to beg the man’s forgiveness, but was denied entry on the pretence that Rozsíval was resting. Baron Hossa had slammed the door in Patrick’s face himself, leaving him to slink home, wretched with regret. 

With all of his sisters now married and his mother off visiting a cousin, he was quite alone for three days. He was embarrassed to admit that he’d spent much of those three days in his chambers, drunk and miserable. 

No one even stopped by to ask after him.

The silence from Jonathan was the worst of it; in all their years of friendship, they’d never gone more than a day or two of being angry with each other. The fact that Jonathan hadn’t come by made something inside Patrick break. He drank so much on the third night that he had no memories of the evening at all.

Abigail Sharp had arrived on the morning of the fourth day, striding into his bedchamber and flinging open the curtains immediately. When Patrick protested, she’d poured a pitcher of cold water over his head, told him he was lucky she’d not used the contents of his chamber pot instead, and demanded he rise, bathe and make himself presentable. 

He’d grumbled mightily and obliged. Shaving and bathing helped immensely, as did the hangover cure Abigail forced him to drink before they left to call on Baron Hossa and Mr. Roczival.

“Thank you, Abby,” Patrick said earnestly a few hours later. Mr. Rozsíval had consented to receive Patrick, who pleaded for his wholly undeserved forgiveness. Patrick tried to make it clear that his comments were not only uncaring and cruel, but inaccurate. He’d begged Mr. Rozsíval to accept that it reflected not at all on Mr. Rozcival, but rather solely on Patrick and his own quick temper and poor character.

Mr. Rozsíval had graciously accepted both Patrick’s apologies and, more reluctantly, his invitation to shoot on Kane land two weeks hence. The easy manner he’d always had around Patrick was now stilted and formal, though, and Patrick knew he had much work still to do to win back even a small measure of Mr. Rozsíval’s favor and trust.

When three more days went by without any sign of Jonathan, Patrick worked up the courage to stop by the Toews estate, only to find him not in residence, but having gone to visit Erica and David on the very morning Abigail had forced Patrick back out into society. Markstrom declined to tell Patrick anything more, including when Jonathan was expected to return, before shutting the door none too gently in his face.

Brent was slightly more helpful when Patrick implored him as to Jonathan’s whereabouts.

“He had a particular question he wanted to discuss with David, I believe,” Brent said, sharing a look with Duncan. “About his future.”

“His future?”

“Yes, I believe Jonathan has finally decided it’s time he marry, and he wanted to get David’s take on the subject, husband-to-husband,” Duncan added, grunting when Brent kicked him none too subtly under the table.

“M-marry? Whom?” Patrick swallowed, suddenly feeling a little light-headed. 

“Whom? You can’t be serious. You had to have noticed how he looks at - “ Duncan said, only to be interrupted by Brent.

“Patrick, if you can’t figure out who’s caught Jonathan’s eye, I’m sure we’re not the ones to tell you,” Brent said. “I think we’ve spilled more than enough of Jonathan’s secrets for today. I feel confident he would want you to hear the identify of the man he loves from his own lips.”

Patrick probably finished his drink, and he definitely rode his horse home, but he had no memory of either, as his mind churned with the knowledge that Jonathan was in love with someone.

And looking back on the past few months, Patrick couldn’t believe he hadn’t picked up on it earlier.

Jonathan was in love with Brandon.

Sweet, funny, earnest, mature Brandon, who would never speak ill to a man who was down on his luck. Or go on a three day drunk because he was afraid to face his friends.

_“Badly done, Patrick.”_

Jonathan’s face, and the words he’d said when last they’d spoken reverberated through Patrick’s mind over the next few days, and while he didn’t take to his bed again, he didn’t make any social calls, setting himself to addressing several pressing affairs, to the delight of his secretary.

Abigail and Sharp called on him, in theory to share their own happy news that their family was expanding, but more likely to make sure Patrick hadn’t reverted to his earlier self-destructive behavior.

“I say, are you ill?” Sharp asked when they were seated and sipping tea on the small veranda overlooking the gardens. “You’re pale and quiet.”

“I’m not hungover, if that’s what you’re asking,” Patrick snapped, then sighed. “Sorry, Sharpy, that wasn’t called for. I haven’t had a drink in days. I’m just in a devil of a mood.”

“Yes, but if you’re not drinking or hungover, what is the matter?“ Abigail asked more gently than her husband had.

“I just, I’m so,” Patrick bit his lip, wanting to confide in them but unsure of how to put his feelings into words.

“So what?”

“Afraid! I’m so afraid that Jonny’s going to come back from David’s and propose to Brandon and my heart will break!” Patrick buried his head in his hands. “I’m so bloody stupid.”

There was a long pause before Sharp said, voice a little strangled, “You think Jonathan’s going to propose to whom?”

“Brandon, Brandon Saad! Jonny’s fallen in love with him and I don’t know what I’m going to do, because - I know you’ll find this hard to believe, because I can hardly countenance it myself, but I’ve suddenly realized that. I’m. Uh. I’m in love with Jonny!“ He looked up at Abigail and Sharp, whose mouths had dropped open, likely out of shock. “Well? Say something!”

Sharp closed his mouth with a click, but Abigail gaped at Patrick for another long moment. “You think Jonny’s in love with _Brandon_.”

“Yes, isn’t it obvious?” 

Sharp made a noise, but didn’t say anything.

“And you think he’s gone to see his brother - and _your sister_ to talk to him about proposing to _Brandon_.”

“Just so,” Patrick said miserably.

“And you’ve just now realized you’re in love with Jonny? This is a recent development?” Sharp finally found his voice.

“Yes, just in the past few days,” Patrick slumped back in his chair.

“You are the dumbest man I’ve ever met in my life,” Sharp said tightly, standing up and pointing at him. “You - he - Abby - he - “ He made a sound of disgust and threw up his hands. “I give up! You deal with him.” With that, Sharp stormed off into the residence, muttering to himself about waiting in the salon while he acquainted himself with Patrick’s good brandy.

“I say, that wasn’t very kind,” Patrick scowled after Sharp.

“Perhaps not, but he’s not wrong, Patrick,” Abigail said a little tartly. “You’ve been fairly obtuse about all of this.”

“I know,” Patrick sighed, his heart heavy. He’d spent a good deal of time thinking as he’d rode his estate over the past few days, considering why the news about Jonathan had shocked and upset him so badly, and how the aching feeling in his heart about the idea of Jonathan marrying Brandon led to the realization that it wasn’t just because he would miss Jonny once he was married. 

It was because Patrick wanted to be the one Jonny was marrying.

“What do I do, Abby?” Patrick let his eyes close. “When he returns, how do I pretend to be happy about his plans for the future, when all I’ll want is to beg him not to speak a word of it?”

“Patrick,” Abigail said, and then a strange sound made him open his eyes to find Jonathan standing, frozen, in the doorway between the house and the veranda, looking as though someone had punched him, his face white.

“Jonny,” Patrick said. “You’re back.”

“I - yes, yes, I’ve just returned this morning, and I wanted to call on you.” Jonathan looked like he wished he’d done anything but, as though he was about to turn and leave faster than Sharp had ten minutes earlier. 

“Please, sit down, I was just leaving,” Abigail said, standing, and Patrick stood as well.

“You don’t need to leave on my account,” Jonathan said, but Abigail was smiling at him, patting his hand.

“You need to talk to Patrick, and I feel confident that he needs to talk to you.” She looked at them both sternly. “Be honest with each other about your feelings, both of you,, and I know things will all turn out alright.”

When she was gone, an awkward silence fell between them until Patrick cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about what I said the other week to Mr. Rozsíval. You were right, I hurt him must inexcusably, and I’ve begged his forgiveness as well, which he’s most graciously given me. Not that it makes up for my abhorrent behavior but - “

“Come now, Patrick, it was one comment, and whilst I didn’t think it spoke well of you, it wasn’t so bad as all that.”

“Well, you were pretty unhappy with me at the time,” Patrick said, still a little aggrieved at the dressing down he’d received, warranted or not.

“I was, but only because I worried that Mr. Hartman’s influence over you had changed you from the man I grew up with, the good, kind man I’ve always known.”

“Mr. Hartman! Surely he isn’t so bad as all that.”

“Well, perhaps not. But I don’t think we need to fight again about how little I think of Mr. Hartman’s manners, do we?”

“No, indeed,” Patrick said immediately. “Speaking of which, did you hear the scandalous news? Mr. Hartman and Mr. Hinostroza have eloped!”

“Eloped?” Jonathan looked genuinely shocked. “I’m sorry, Pat, I know how much you liked him. I hope you’re not too upset - “

“Why on earth would I be upset that Hartman and Vincent eloped?”

“I thought you’d possibly developed deeper feelings for him,” Jonathan said carefully. “You were forever in his company!”

“Oh, god, no, my heart wasn’t - I wasn’t - did you think I’d fallen for him? Ryan?” Patrick threw back his head and laughed, half amused by the idea of him ever falling for Ryan, and half hysterical at the knowledge that his heart was already the sole possession of the man across from him. “God, no, he’s but a friend, nothing more. My heart is not at all bruised by his elopement.”

“Good, that’s - that’s so - I’m so glad,” Jonathan said, his smile growing slowly into a more genuine one. 

“I am a little miffed that I wasn’t invited along, it all sounds very daring and romantic,” Patrick said.

“I think it sounds very insensitive and common,” Jonathan sniffed. 

“Jonathan,” Patrick tsked. “That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

“As I don’t believe Mr. Hartman is much of a gentleman, that seems appropriate,” Jonathan said tartly. “But enough about him.” He took a deep breath. “I came to speak to you about a particular matter, something I’ve long wanted to share with you.”

“Oh.” Patrick swallowed as he remembered what Jonathan likely wanted to say.

“As you may know, I’ve been in Kent, with David and Erica. I wanted to consult him - well, them both, actually - about my future and the future of our family.”

“Yes, Abby said something to that effect,” Patrick said morosely.

“She did?” Jonathan looked unhappy at the knowledge.

“Yes, but nothing more than that,” Patrick assured him. “She’s left it to you to tell me whatever news you have, be it happy or not.” 

“Good, good, that’s. That’s good.” Jonathan looked at Patrick closely as he continued. “I’m hoping you will find it something that makes you happy, but. Obviously I value our friendship as one of the most important things in my life, and I wouldn’t want to damage it, or, or, I just - “ Jonathan broke off with a curse. “Bollocks, I’ve had days to practice this speech and I’m still buggering it up.”

“Then don’t say it!” Patrick entreated desperately. “If you think - if hearing what you’re about to say will change us, change our relationship in such a way that might damage us both, I beg you, please, say nothing.”

“I - “ Jonathan stilled. “You truly don’t want to hear - “

“I truly don’t,” Patrick said honestly. “I just - can’t we just continue as we’ve always been? Must we - must things change?”

“I suppose not,” Jonathan said after a long pause where he searched Patrick’s eyes for something, Patrick knew not what. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to upset you. I will hold my tongue, of course.” He looked sad, and ill at ease as he stood up. “If you will excuse me, I find I am tired from my travel.”

“Jon - “

“Perhaps we can catch up on another day when I’m feeling more myself,” Jonathan bowed and walked away, his shoulders drooping and defeated. 

“Jonny!” Patrick called to him just as he rounded the side of the house towards the stables. “Wait, wait, I’m sorry!”

Jonathan stopped, and turned enough that just his profile was in view. “Do not apologize, I shouldn’t have imposed.”

“No, I shouldn’t have stopped you from sharing whatever news you have,” Patrick continued, grabbing Jonathan’s arm so that they were facing each other. “Please, you’re my oldest, dearest friend, and whilst I can admit that I’m wary of what you will say, I would not be a good friend if I did not let you speak. So, please. Tell me.”

“I - Patrick,” Jonathan removed his hat and twisted it in his hands a little. “It can’t have escaped your notice that I - that I wish that we - that I’m in love.”

“Yes, I know.” Patrick tried to smile, fearing he was failing miserably. “With Brandon.”

“Yes, with - what? Wait, no, not with Brandon. Why would you think that?” Jonathan stared at him. 

“What do you mean not with Brandon? If not him, who on earth - “

“I - it’s you, Patrick. It’s been you, for years and years.”

“You - what?” Patrick stepped back, shocked. He could not have heard correctly. “You’re not in love with me!”

“Yes, I am!”

“You can’t be!” Patrick sputtered.

“I beg your pardon, but I think I know my own heart,” Jonathan said. “Which, for reasons that I don’t entirely understand, wants you.”

“You - you want me?” Patrick swallowed. “You - love me? Me?”

“I do,” Jonathan said. “And Erica seemed to think that there was at least a chance, mayhaps only a small one, that you might love me, too.”

“There’s more than a chance - I do, I love you, too,” Patrick breathed, reaching for Jonathan’s hands, his own shaking.

“Pat,” Jonathans said, tugging Patrick close enough that their chests were almost touching, then a little closer, bringing Patrick’s hands up between them, their fingers twined together. “You love me? I hardly dared hope that you could love me.”

“I only just realized it myself,” Patrick said, Jonny’s face swimming a little through the happy tears that were forming in Patrick’s eyes. “Whilst you were at David’s, I was so worried that you wouldn’t forgive me, or that you were going to propose to Brandon. Or both. And I realized I didn’t want you to marry him, not because I didn’t want you to marry, but because I wanted you to marry me.”

“I want that, Pat, so much. I’ve dreamed of asking you, of having you as my husband, but it wasn’t until I went to David’s that Erica made me see that I couldn’t wait any longer, that I needed to tell you, and ask if I could court you as I’ve wanted to court you for - well. For the longest time.”

“Court me?” Patrick threw his head back, happiness filling his heart so full he couldn’t help laughing. “The past twenty years of our lives have been courtship, Jonny! Marry me, don’t court me!”

“Marry you, hmm?” Jonathan wound his arms around Patrick’s back. “Just like that?”

“Indeed, just like that,” Patrick breathed into Jonathan’s mouth as he kissed him, the press of their lips awkward at first, but then gentling into something indescribably _right_ and perfect.

When they finally drew apart minutes later, they were both breathing hard.

“You know, maybe we could - “

“We’re not eloping,” Jonathan said before Patrick could finish his sentence.

“Jonny,” Patrick whined.

“Four weeks - we’ll wed on Saturday four weeks next,” Jonathan said. “I’ll not be the object of gossip like Mr. Hartman, nor will I carry you off to marry me as though ashamed. I want the whole village there when we pledge our troth, to hear you claim me as yours, and to hear me claim you as mine.”

“Four weeks...” Patrick thought about it for a moment, and nodded. “That’s the nineteenth of August, I believe... I like that date.”

“So it’s settled?” When Patrick nodded, Jonny growled a little. “Then get back here, so I can kiss my fiancé.”

Four weeks later, they were married, and the entire village did come out to witness it, including Brandon, who’d become affianced himself, to Mr. Crawford. Mr. Crawford had been most gracious in forgiving Patrick for his endeavors to matchmake for Brandon and thereby serving as an obstacle to their happy engagement.

At the wedding breakfast, Patrick announced his retirement from matchmaking, declaring he could never make another match as perfect as the one he’d made himself that day.

He was too busy kissing his husband to pay any mind to how his announcement elicited many cheers from those within earshot.

*THE END*


End file.
